


Not in the stars

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Reverse Omens, but still canon compliant in a sense, what it says on the tin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 05:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21094493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: “Guys?” He called out. “Sir Jophiel of the Table Round here. Can anyone fetch me the Black Knight?”One of the shadows stepped closer and gestured for them to come along.“Cool,” Jophiel commented, deadpan. He turned to his squire. “Guess we’re following weird men inside mysterious woods today.”Only a few steps ahead, though, another man appeared – standing ramrod straight and clad in black armour from head to toe.“Hello!” Said a surprisingly familiar voice. He cleared his throat, his tone suddenly dropping a full octave. “You have sought the Black Knight, oh foolish one!”The angel didn’t bat an eye. “Aziraphale, what the hell are you doing under there?”





	Not in the stars

**Author's Note:**

> So, the thing is. I’ve seen a lot of reverse AU fics/art, and the vast majority of them are very beautiful and very creative.
> 
> _However._
> 
> Since I have a Frankly Exhausting Brain™, I can’t let go of the idea that, even if you were to switch up Aziraphale and Crowley, the characters would be pretty much the same. Because the whole point of Good Omens is that you’re not where you come from, but the choices you make. Or something like that. So, while I happily stroll among all the possible reverse AUs, I also wanted to explore how the story would play out with this concept in mind.
> 
> So this is my experiment, to figure out whether this idea has half a leg to stand on.
> 
> In this essay I will—

As has become widely accepted, the Bible isn’t the most accurate of books. This much is to be expected. After all, many years passed between the events it relates and the invention of the written word. Some facts were distorted, some facts were forgotten.

One of the very first misconceptions you’ll find among its pages is that, at the beginning, in the Garden of Eden, there was a snake.

It was no snake at all. It was, in fact, a particularly small brown owl[1], easy to miss. A big black snake is much easier to pin the blame to, and its image is much more impactful in biblical paintings and sculptures. Reptiles big and small, generally speaking, have been terrifying humans from the dawn of time – but there’s something to be said about an owl, even such a small one, turning its head one hundred and eighty degrees, staring at you in the darkness of the night with its round, unblinking eyes.

Either way, the owl was about 9-inch tall and quite fluffy in the light of the day, so it didn’t make a very good villain in the history of humankind, and, again, it really was quite easy to miss. Even Eve didn’t see it at first, perched on a high branch, and barely heard it muttering about just how _scrumptious_ the apple looked. But that whisper was more than enough.

* * *

The owl landed on the Wall and slowly transformed into his human-like shape, his mission completed. He wrung his wings—well, _hands_, as he watched Adam and Eve face the desert.

An angel landed by his side with a flutter of feathers. They were the same, the angel and the owl – and yet not quite at all. The angel had flowy, unruly red curls, he was dressed in white and gold, and his wings were the colour of snow. The owl had short, white-blond curls (which, to his annoyance, much reminded him of down feathers), was wearing a roughly cut black tunic, and his wings were black, speckled with dark brown and grey.

The owl startled as the angel landed next to him, then quickly turned his gaze back to the humans.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.” The angel said.

The owl chuckled and nodded as if he was in on the joke, then frowned.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said, _well, that went down like a lead balloon_.”

“Yes, yes, it did, rather.” Replied the owl, who had no idea what a lead balloon even was.

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me.” The angel said, conspiratorially. The owl went very still and glanced at him from the corner of his grey-blue eyes.

The angel looked up, then around. He frowned and dropped his voice to a whisper. “First offence and everything. All they really did was eat an apple, is that so bad?”

“Well, it must be bad…” He stopped, he didn’t know his name.

“Zophiel[2].” The angel offered.

“Zophiel. Otherwise… I wouldn't have tempted them into it.”

“Although…” Zophiel tilted his head to the left. “Not very subtle of the Almighty, is it? Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a Don't Touch sign. I mean,” he continued, oblivious to the owl’s nervous gaze. “Why not put it on the top of a high mountain? Or on the moon? Makes me wonder what God's really planning.”

“Angels shouldn’t speculate.” The owl replied, primly. “It's all part of the Great Plan, after all, isn’t it? It's not for us to understand. It's ineffable[3].”

“The Great Plan’s ineffable[4]?” The angel asked, furrowing his brow.

“I guess so, yes. It’s supposed to be beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words. I think, at least.” He glanced around, desperate to change the subject. “Anyway, didn't you have a flaming sword? Big, sharp, cutty thing…”

“Oh, yeah.” Zophiel shrugged. “Gave it away.”

“You—what?” The owl stared at him in disbelief.

“I gave it away. I mean, she’s expecting already, and they’re going to cross a desert full of vicious animals. Would be a bit of a let-down if this whole human business ended after just a few days, wouldn’t it?”

The owl blinked, something he didn’t do often, and opened and closed his mouth a few times. “That… makes sense.” He glanced up. “Perhaps.” He added.

“Either way, if I’ve done something wrong, I will know soon enough.”

“And if I’ve done something right, I will know soon enough, too.” The owl replied with a gulp. “I’m not entirely sure what I was supposed to do… they just said to come up here and ‘make some trouble’, nobody gave me specific directives…”

“Hold on,” Zophiel’s head swivelled towards the demon. “Are you saying that you just went and gave them the _one thing_ that would teach them the difference between Good and Evil? Without direct orders?” Zophiel blinked at him, his hazel eyes wide in astonishment[5], his mouth hanging open.

“I…” The owl hesitated. He, too, lowered his voice. “I rather thought they deserved to know. How are they supposed to make choices and have free will if they have no idea what they’re choosing? They’re mortal, their life spans are limited, they don’t have a lot of time…” He hesitated, then let out a long sigh, missing the angel’s gaze softening as he looked at him. “I really hope tempting them was the right call. Properly evil and all that, I mean. Up to standard, so to speak. They can be…” He looked downwards. “Well, quite harsh, down there.”

“Oh, you're a demon,” Zophiel interjected. “I’m sure everything you do is properly evil.”

“Oh, oh, thank you.” The owl smiled at him, dropping his shoulders. “It’s been bothering me.”

“I've been worrying, too.” Then angel replied. “What if I did a bad thing giving them my flaming sword? Maybe it will fall into the wrong hands and cause a huge mess. An angel can get into a lot of trouble for doing the wrong thing, even with the best intentions.”

“As the saying goes, the road to Hell…” Zophiel cut him off with a pointed look. The owl gave him an embarrassed smile.

They watched together as Adam swung the sword against a wild beast, easily slashing its head in two clean halves. The demon winced, the angel rolled his eyes.

“See?” He let out an irritated sigh, then seemed to find the humour in their situation and grinned. “Though it’d be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the wrong thing and you did the good one.”

The owl chuckled along until he realised the full extent of Zophiel’s words. “Oh, no! It wouldn't be funny at all!”

“Well.” The angel shrugged, then sniffed the air with a slightly disgusted expression as the first ever rain started falling over their heads.

Without taking his eyes off the humans, the owl stretched out one of his big black wings to shield the angel from the water. Zophiel hesitated for a moment, gave the demon a once-over, and decided to step under his warm wing.

* * *

Zophiel was almost done closing the hole in the Wall when he received a call from above.

** _ZOPHIEL. ANGEL OF THE EASTERN GATE. _ **

The sky above him thundered, the clouds opened to shed a cone of light over the angel. He made a show to bow at the empty space before him. “Yes, Lord?”

** _WHERE IS THE FLAMING SWORD I GAVE YOU, ZOPHIEL, TO GUARD THE GATE OF EDEN?_ **

“Uh,” he replied. “Dunno. Must be here somewhere…”

He waited a few seconds, and nothing happened. Once the light was gone, and he was sure he was alone – or alone as one can possibly be when dealing with omnipresent deities, he let out a small sigh of relief. Then he muttered under his breath, “Why’s She asking questions she already has the answers to?”

* * *

# Mesopotamia, 3004 BC

Zophiel spotted something dark and fidgety out of the corner of his eye.

The owl, whom he hadn’t seen in a while, was again wringing his hands as he slowly made his way through the humans, a confused expression on his face. He got to the front and stared at the line of animals boarding the Ark.

Zophiel cut through the crowd to come up behind him.

“Hello, Aziraphale[6]!” He exclaimed brightly, making him startle a little.

“Zophiel.” Aziraphale replied, sending him a quick glare.

“So, giving the mortals the gift of Knowledge without permission.” He tilted his head to the side and couldn’t help a little smirk. “How did that work out for you?”

“I-I got a commendation, actually.”

“Well, good for—”

“Zophiel,” the demon cut him off. “What is this? Why are these animals boarding a ship?”

“Yeah, well,” the angel let out a short, irritated sigh. “Apparently God’s feeling _tetchy_.”

“Tetchy?”

“Hm-mm.” His fingers hunted for the small braid he had hiding among his curls, staring at its end rather than meeting the angel’s eyes. “Wiping out the human race by drowning, I hear.”

Aziraphale blinked, stealing a glance at the surrounding crowd. “All of them? Surely you can’t mean all of them.”

“Well, the locals, ‘s what I mean.”

“Oh.”

“Look, I don’t think she’s going to drown the Chinese, or the Native Americans, or the Australians… yet.” He looked up at the Ark. “And Noah’s family, up there, is going to be fine.”

“What about everyone else?” Aziraphale asked, turning his big grey-blue eyes to the angel. “What about the children?”

Zophiel didn’t look at him, a muscle tightening under his jaw. “The children aren’t going to be fine.”

The demon opened his mouth, saw the look on the angel’s face, and closed it. After a few seconds he asked, much more gently, “And… what is going to happen after, anyway?”

“From what I hear,” Zophiel tossed his braid over his shoulder. “She will put up a new thing, called a _Rain Bow_, as a promise not to drown anyone again. Kind, isn’t it?”

The sarcasm in his voice was impossible to miss.

“You can't judge the Almighty, Zophiel. It’s…” He lowered his voice. “Dangerous. Besides, her plans are—”

“Are you going to say _ineffable_?” The angel arched an eyebrow, pursing his lips.

“…possibly.”

They watched as the animals obediently filed into the ark. All of them, except—

“Oy! Shem!” Zophiel called out. “That unicorn's going to make a run for it. Oh, it's too late. It's too late!” He watched the white unicorn rode away into the distance. “Well, you've still got one of them.”

The sky above them darkened, and the rain started. For the second time since the Earth was created, the angel and the demon stood side-by-side, very, very damp, and more than a little confused.

* * *

# Golgotha, 33 AD

Once more, Zophiel found Aziraphale standing among the humans, a deep crease between his eyebrows as he watched the guards nailing Jesus to the Cross.

“Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?” He asked, a grave expression on his face.

“Smirk? Me?” Aziraphale gasped and turned to him, frowning even deeper.

“Well, your lot has to be happy with this turn of events.”

“Your side put him on there, Zophiel.”

“Oh, I've changed it.”

“Changed what?”

“My name. _Zophiel_ just wasn't really doing it for me. A bit too holier-than-thou.”

“Well, you are an _archangel_. Being holier-than-thou is the whole point.” He sighed. “So, what is it now? Raphael? _Haniel**[7]**_?” He rolled his eyes along with the last suggestion.

“Jophiel[8].”

“Oh.” _Divine Beauty_. Aziraphale looked over at him. The angel was currently wearing a white shawl that helped hide his coppery red hair – a colour remarkably uncommon in this part of the world. The demon cleared his throat. “Have I told you I met him?”

“Have you?” Jophiel asked.

“Yes. I was sent to tempt him, in fact.”

Jophiel seemed to consider this for a few moments. “How is he?”

“Oh, he’s awfully kind, deeply compassionate… also exceedingly clever, in a way his contemporaries can’t understand.” His voice shook a little. “I tried to convince him, I tried to change his mind—”

“It’s not your fault.” The angel interjected. “This is what She wanted. You know none of us have the power to do anything about it.”

The demon sighed, but gave Jophiel a sad little smile. “Well, I did my demonic duty. Can’t win them all.”

Zophiel gave him a long, indecipherable look. It seemed, for a moment, that he was about to say something, but they were interrupted by a particularly loud scream.

“That has got to hurt.” The angel commented instead, wincing at the bloody spectacle in front of their eyes.

“What did he say to get into so much trouble?” Aziraphale asked.

“‘_Be kind to each other’_.”

“Ah…” The demon swallowed and turned his eyes to the Cross, pity painted all over his face despite himself. “May he rest in peace.”

“Not really.”

“Wh—”

“Nothing,” Zophiel was quick to say. “Forget about it.”

* * *

# Rome, 8 years later

Aziraphale’s day had been terrible. Awful. He’d retired to a questionable establishment that sold a brownish liquid that could pass as wine and _probably_ wouldn’t discorporate him. He was drowning his mood into a pint of such liquid when he heard a familiar voice.

“What have you got? Give me a jug of whatever you think is drinkable.”

He perked up immediately, standing up and walking towards the sound of the angel’s voice.

“Zophiel—Jophiel?” He beamed at him. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Hey.” The angel summoned a little smile for him. “Still a demon?”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “What else should I be?”

Jophiel waved the question away with a gesture of his elegant hand. “Forget it.”

The demon, a bit hesitant at first, raised his cup to the angel. “Salutaria!”

Jophiel clinked his own cup to Aziraphale’s. “In Rome long?”

“I had, ah, a quick temptation, but I found out my help really wasn’t needed,” a shadow crossed his face, but it was gone before the angel could ask, “Say, have you heard of Petronius’ new restaurant?”

Jophiel shook his head.

“Well,” Aziraphale continued, emboldened, “I hear he does _remarkable_ things to oysters. I think that would be a much better use of my time.”

The angel shrugged. “I've never eaten an oyster.”

“Oh. Oh well, then let me tempt you to—oh, oh no.” He smiled sheepishly, averting his gaze. “Sorry, force of habit.”

As he stared at his sandals, Aziraphale missed the complicated smile on the angel’s face.

* * *

# The Kingdom of Wessex, 537 AD

Jophiel growled inside his helmet as he made his way through the thick fog, followed closely by his old squire.

He lifted his visor, quite sure he’d faithfully followed the directions he’d gathered and should, therefore, be deep inside the Black Knight’s territory by now. He was about to give up when he spotted some shadows moving in the distance.

“Guys?” He called out. “Sir Jophiel of the Table Round here. Can anyone fetch me the Black Knight?”

One of the shadows stepped closer and gestured for them to come along.

“Cool,” Jophiel commented, deadpan. He turned to his squire. “Guess we’re following weird men inside mysterious woods today.”

Only a few steps ahead, though, another man appeared – standing ramrod straight and clad in black armour from head to toe.

“Hello!” Said a surprisingly familiar voice. He cleared his throat, his tone suddenly dropping a full octave. “_You have sought the Black Knight, oh foolish one!_”

The angel didn’t bat an eye. “Aziraphale, what the hell are you doing under there?”

“Wait, let me finish!” He cleared his throat again. “_But you have found your death!_”

Jophiel clapped his hands briefly. “Can we talk now?”

“Oh, sure.” Aziraphale turned around to his men. “Thank you, everyone, great job! You can go now. Pip pip!”

He lifted his visor too and stepped closer to the angel, so they wouldn’t be overheard.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Jophiel asked him.

“I’m fomenting discord, of course. King Arthur has been spreading too much tranquillity in the land, so I’ve been sent to counter his righteous influence.”

“And I’ve been sent here fomenting peace.” Jophiel replied. “So that means we're both working very hard in damp places and just cancelling each other out, doesn’t it?”

“Well, you could put it like that.” Aziraphale glanced around into the fog surrounding them. “It is a bit damp.”

“Be easier if we both stayed home.” The angel shrugged. “If we just sent messages back to our head offices saying we'd done everything they'd asked for, wouldn't it?”

“But that wouldn’t be true!” The demon argued.

“Why’s that a problem? Aren’t you a demon?”

“I am, yes.” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “And I swore an oath of obedience to the Dark Lord.”

Jophiel rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. Besides, the end result would be the same. Cancel each other out.”

“But, my dear fellow… well, they'd check, wouldn’t they?” Aziraphale made a face like he’d swallowed something very, very sour. “Hastur, he’s… a bit of a stickler. And you don't want to get Beelzebub upset with you.”

“Oh, our lot have better things to do than verifying compliance reports from Earth. As long as they get perfectly compiled, pristine paperwork, they seem happy enough. I just have to be seen doing something every now and again.”

“No! Absolutely not!” Aziraphale stood even straighter, red in the face. “I am shocked that you would even imply such a thing. We're not having this conversation. Not another word.”

“Right.” Jophiel said, lowering his visor again.

“Right!” The demon replied, lowering his own. He stood there for a moment before managing to turn around despite his heavy armour and stumble back towards his men.

Jophiel lifted his arm up in frustration. He glanced at his squire, who couldn’t have cared less, and gave a frustrated sigh inside his helm.

* * *

# The Globe Theatre, London, 1601

Jophiel sauntered into the Globe Theatre with a frown. He reached Aziraphale, who was happily eating some grapes as he listened to a monologue.

“Thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here. Blend in among crowds!” They both looked around, taking in the few people around them.

“Well, that was the idea.” The demon admitted.

“This is one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, isn’t it?” Jophiel scoffed. “No wonder nobody’s here!”

“Shh.” Aziraphale shushed him as Shakespeare trotted closer to them. “It's him – it's _him_.”

“Prithee, gentles.” Shakespeare greeted them. “Might I request a small favour? Could you, in your role as the audience, give us more to work with?”

The demon pointed towards the stage, his interest immediately piqued. “You mean, like when the ghost of his father came on and I said, ‘_he's behind you!’._”

“Just so.” He confirmed. “That was jolly helpful. Made everyone on stage feel appreciated, a bit more of that.” He turned back to his actor. “Good Master Burbage, please. Speak the lines trippingly.”

Master Burbage wasn’t infected by his enthusiasm. “I am wasting my time up here.”

“No, no, you're very good!” Aziraphale reassured him immediately. “I love all the… er, talking.”

“And what does your friend think?” Burbage asked, making Jophiel smirk.

“Oh, he's not my friend.” The demon was quick to say as the angel’s grin grew wider and wider. “We've never met before. We don't know each other.”

When Aziraphale was done squirming, Jophiel replied, “I think you should get on with the play.”

“Yes, Burbage, please.” Shakespeare said. “From the top.”

“_To be or not to be_.” The actor recited, “_That is the question_.”

“To be! I mean, not to be!” Aziraphale shouted from the pit, earning a piercing look from Jophiel. “Come on, Hamlet! Buck up!”

“_Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer - the slings and arrows_…”

“He's very good, isn't he?” The demon asked his friend.

“Age does not wither, nor custom stale his infinite variety.” The angel replied, sparkling Shakespeare’s interest and watching him walk away while furiously scribbling notes.

“_To die. To sleep. No more…_”

Jophiel slowly circled the demon, all the while pretending to be interested in the monologue.

“Oh—what do you want?” Aziraphale snapped at him.

“Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly want something?”

“You are up to no good.”

“Impossible, I’m an angel. Everything I do is good.” Jophiel replied with another one of his grins. “And whatever have you been up to? Lots of bad deeds?”

“Well, you know what they say,” Aziraphale replied, “No rest for the wicked.”

“Listen,” The angel stopped by his side. “I have to be in Edinburgh at the end of the week. Couple blessings to do, minor miracle to perform.”

“Oh. I'm meant to be heading to Edinburgh too this week. Tempting a clan leader to steal some cattle.” He winced. “Apparently, I have to ride a horse.”

“Hard on the buttocks, horses.” Jophiel pointed out, “Major design flaw, if you ask me.”

“_The pangs of despised love and the insolence of office, and the spurns that we are…_”

“That's why I thought we should…” The angel pursed his lips. “Well, bit of a waste of effort, both of us going all the way to Scotland, isn’t it?”

“You cannot actually be suggesting…” Aziraphale looked away from him. “What I infer… you are implying.”

“Which is?”

“That just one of us goes to Edinburgh, does both. The blessing and the tempting.”

Jophiel shrugged. “We've done it before.” He said, making the demon startle at his brazenness. “Dozens of times now. The arrangement—”

“Don't say that!”

“Our respective head offices don't actually care how things get done.” Jophiel stated matter-of-factly, loud enough for anyone to hear. “They just want to know they can cross it off the list.”

“But if Heaven finds out you’ve been cooperating with a demon, they won't just be angry, they'll make you Fall!” Aziraphale protested, his silvery eyes wide and pleading.

“Nobody ever has to know.” Jophiel whispered back reassuringly. He pulled out a silver coin. “Toss you for Edinburgh.”

The demon sighed. “Fine. Tails.”

Jophiel tossed the coin in the air, snatching it away before Aziraphale could see it. “Heads, I'm afraid. You're going to Scotland.”

The demon sighed, resigned to his fate.

“It's been like this every performance, Juliet.” Shakespeare complained from behind them, talking to the lady selling fruit to the meagre crowd. “Complete dud. It'd take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet.”

Aziraphale’s eyes got impossibly wide and pleading as he looked at the angel.

“Yes, all right.” Jophiel agreed. “I'll do that one. My treat.”

“Oh, really?” The demon asked, unsheathing his best smile.

“I still prefer the funny ones!” Jophiel shouted as he walked away, but not before shooting a look of frustrated patience over his shoulder at the beaming demon.

* * *

# Paris, 1793

Aziraphale had spent the last few minutes arguing with the executioner who was to take him to the guillotine. He’d grown increasingly frustrated, and then the man had the nerve to touch the back of his shirt’s collar—

“Please! No!” He shouted, standing up, his movements greatly hindered by the chains at his wrists. “Dreadful mistake, discorporating me. Oh, it'll be a complete nightmare.” He said, looking down at his feet and beyond them, towards Hell’s headquarters. He could already picture the mountain of paperwork he’d have to fill out.

Before the man could make a second attempt, he got distracted by the swishing sound of the guillotine outside the window, and turned towards it with a manic glint in his eyes.

“Animals.” The demon commented, trying to stop the executioner from starting another rant about the wonders of a skilfully sharpened angled blade.

“Animals don't kill each other with clever machines, bird. Only humans do that.” Said a familiar voice behind him.

“Jophiel!” It was only then that Aziraphale realised the human had been frozen in place – and, actually, that time had been altogether stopped. He turned around to face his rescuer – only to be met with the sight of the angel sprawled in a corner, his long coppery hair tied in a low ponytail that fell over his right shoulder. He’d donned a suitable attire for a member of the _Tiers-Etat_ – albeit in a lighter palette, with white tights, a long tan coat, and a discrete puff of white frills around his throat. Probably a much smarter choice than the demon’s, who favoured intricate patterns and expensive fabrics and had been, therefore, obviously mistaken for an aristocrat, what with his silk black shoes and his luxurious dark coat – not to mention the hint of silvery eyeshadows over his eyelids. “Oh, good Lord.” He exclaimed nonetheless, taking in the angel’s new look, as if he had just seen something downright scandalous. He had, in a sense – angels were probably not supposed to blend in with the plebs. He couldn’t imagine Heaven being too happy about that. But then again, this one angel had always been special, hadn’t he?

Jophiel didn’t seem particularly put off by his reaction. “What the heaven are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a bookshop.”

“Well, I was.” Aziraphale admitted. “I got peckish.”

“Peckish?” The angel asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, if you must know, it was the crepes.” He sat down, resting his hands over his knees, heavy with the weight of the chains. “You can't get decent ones anywhere but Paris. And the brioche.”

“So you just popped across the Channel during a revolution because you wanted something to nibble?” Jophiel asked, incredulous. “Dressed like that?”

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth. “Well, nobody down there said I couldn’t have nice things.” He chanced a glance outside the window. “I'd heard they were getting a bit carried away over here, but—”

“Yeah, this is not getting carried away.” The angel replied, “This is cutting off lots of people's heads very efficiently with a big head-cutting machine. Anyway, why didn't you just perform another miracle and go home?”

The demon sighed. “I was reprimanded last month. They said I'd performed too many frivolous miracles. Beelzebub said to stop immediately _or else_.”

The angel took a moment to wonder about that threat. “Well, you're lucky I was in the area.”

“I suppose I am. Why are you here, anyway?”

“My lot sent me here to see if there was anything I could do to restore peace.” He grimaced. “I really don’t think so. I’d rather keep my head where it is, thank you very much.”

“Ah, yes.” Aziraphale wrung his hands, making the chains clank. “I got a commendation for outstanding job performance. I didn’t really do anything, but—”

“Was that before or after getting reprimanded for too many frivolous miracles?”

A beat.

“At the same time.”

“Uh huh. I see.” Jophiel replied, narrowing his eyes[9]. He snapped his fingers, freeing the demon from his chains.

“Well, I suppose I should say thank you for the, uh, rescue.” Aziraphale muttered.

“Don't say that.” The angel stood and walked up to him. “If my people hear I rescued a demon, I'll be the one in trouble. And my lot do not warn beforehand.”

“Well, anyway, I'm very grateful.” Aziraphale rubbed his wrists. “What about if I buy you lunch?”

Jophiel gave him a thorough once-over. “Looking like that?”

Aziraphale sighed, and with a gesture of his hand he had swapped his clothes with the executioner – saying goodbye to his pretty little shoes in exchange for revolutionary garb. He wrinkled his nose at the bonnet rouge and striped sash across his chest. Gaudy and rough, but it would have to do for now, if he liked his head on his neck.

“Well, barely counts as a miracle, really.” He said matter-of-factly, in response to Jophiel’s unimpressed gaze.

They stood side by side and the angel snapped his fingers, letting go of the flow of time. The executioner blinked, then looked down and panicked at the sight of his new expensive clothes. Before he could do anything about it, two guards came and grabbed him, dragging him away as he struggled and shouted.

“Dressed like that, he's asking for trouble.” Jophiel commented, nonplussed. “So, what's for lunch?”

Aziraphale smiled brightly at his saviour. “What would you say to some crepes?”

* * *

# St James Park, London, 1862

Aziraphale took off his top hat and turned it upside down. As he stood next to Jophiel, near the ducks, his hat filled with crumbs, which he began to toss at the birds.

“Look, I've been thinking.” Jophiel began, “What if it all goes wrong? We have a lot in common, you and me.”

“I don't know.” Aziraphale replied. “We may have both started off as angels, but I... well, I Fell.”

“You didn't really Fall. You just hung around the wrong people.” Aziraphale seemed to consider this. “I want you to do something for me.” The angel continued.

“We already have the agreement, Jophiel.” He said as he kept tossing bread to the ducks. “Stay out of each other's way, lend a hand when needed.”

“This is something else, for if it all goes pear-shaped.”

“I like pears.” Aziraphale sighed.

“If it all goes wrong, I want insurance.”

Aziraphale frowned at him. “What are you saying?”

“I wrote it down.” Jophiel muttered, passing him a small piece of paper. “Walls have ears. Well, not walls. Trees have ears. Ducks have ears. Do ducks have ears? Must do. That's how they hear other ducks.”

Aziraphale unfolded the piece of paper. Only one word on it: _hellfire_.

“Out of the question.” Aziraphale replied immediately.

“Why not?”

“I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Jophiel.”

“That’s not what I want it for. It’s just insurance.”

“I'm not an idiot, Jophiel.” He looked down, then up. “Do you know what trouble I'd be in if they knew I’d been fraternising? It's completely out of the question.”

“_Fraternising_?” Jophiel sneered at him.

“Well, whatever you wish to call it. I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.”

“I have lots of other people to _fraternise_ with, bird.”

“Of course you do.” Aziraphale shot back as he began stomping away from him.

“I don't need you!” Jophiel called after him.

“Well, and the feeling is mutual, obviously.” He said as he clumsily tossed the piece of paper into the water and walked away.

“_Obviously_.” Jophiel mocked him, watching the paper floating on the water, catching fire, and disintegrating completely.

* * *

# London, 1941

Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. Now, Aziraphale found himself trapped, fidgeting with the black fedora in his hands as he stared down the end of a gun barrel.

The air in the crypt smelled of mould and decay. Ancient symbols – from long before Christianity existed – marked the room as a cursed place, warding it off from ethereal forces.

The ceiling was very, very low, enough that he’d touch it if he just reached up over his head. And the Nazis, the ones he had set out to trick, were surrounding him from all sides.

And it was all his fault. He’d suggested this place – the cursed crypts under the desecrated church – because he knew he’d be undisturbed. He’d been the only demon stationed on earth from the Garden, and thus the only one who’d had the chance to realise that he could enter a desecrated church without catching fire. And no angel would set foot in the crypts underneath, scared of the sigils and runes carved into the stone walls. He had made sure to be completely undisturbed – and now all his planning turned against him.

It was helpless. He’d be discorporated. This time no valiant angel would come to save him. In fact, he hadn’t seen or talked to Jophiel since their fight over hellfire, and anyway there was no way he would voluntarily step foot on cursed ground. Aziraphale stared with regret at the bag full of rare, precious books he’d just delivered to the leader of the small group. It was likely he’d never get them back, even being lucky enough to be granted a new physical vessel and sent back to earth in a few months.

“You can’t kill me!” He pleaded with the Nazis. “There’ll be paperwork!”

He was sure someone was about to shoot him when he heard heavy, clumsy steps coming down the stairs. Steps and… gasps of pain.

“Uh! Ah! Ow!” Jophiel appeared into view jumping off the last few steps, quickly making his way towards them, hopping from one foot to the other. The Nazis stared at him, then at one another, uncertain of what exactly was going on and who that ridiculous man dancing towards them could be, dressed to the nines in an elegant light brown suit and matching hat, and yet making such weird noises. “Sorry, cursed ground. Oh! It's like stepping on a frozen lake in bare feet.”

Aziraphale frowned deeply and hissed at him. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Stopping you from getting into trouble.” Was the angel’s reply. “What are you doing this for, anyway? Shouldn’t your side be happy with these half-witted spies and their doing?”

“No!” Protested Aziraphale. “Hell has nothing to do with this, the humans came up with this all on their own!”

“Still doesn’t explain your involvement, bird.”

Aziraphale deflected the question with one of his own. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I just didn't want to see you embarrassed.”

“Mr Anthony C. Jophiel!” One of the Nazis exclaimed. “Your fame precedes you.”

“_Anthony?_” The demon asked.

“You don’t like it?” Jophiel asked, not without some apprehension.

“No, no, I didn't say that.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I'll get used to it.”

“The famous Mr Jophiel.” Said a blonde woman, younger than the rest of them, smiling at the angel. “That's such a pity you must both die.”

Jophiel brought his hand to his hat in greeting.

“What does the ‘C_’_ stand for?” The demon asked, as if they didn’t have Nazi guns pointed against them all around.

“Uh… it’s just a ‘C’, really.” Jophiel shrugged.

“Enough babbling.” The Nazi leader snapped. “Kill them both.”

“In about a minute, a German bomber will release a bomb that will land _right here_.” Jophiel announced, pointing at the floor. “If you all run away very, _very_ fast, you might not die. You won't enjoy dying, definitely won't enjoy what comes after.”

“You expect us to believe that?” The leader sneered. “The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.”

“Yes.” He leaned casually against a sarcophagus, resting his feet a bit. “It would take a… _last-minute divine intervention_… to throw them off course, yes.” Aziraphale gave him a look as it began to dawn on him what the angel had done. “You're all wasting your valuable running-away time.” Jophiel said loudly, spinning around on himself, his feet threatening to freeze. He tap-danced closer to Aziraphale, lowering his voice. “And if, in thirty seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a _demonic miracle_ for my friend and I to _survive_ it.” He spelled out very, very clearly.

“A d-demonic miracle?” The demon repeated, nodding his head.

“Kill them. They are very irritating.”

Jophiel stopped moving around and lifted his gaze towards the ceiling. The air-raid sirens began to wail. The first bomb fell close enough to make the ceiling shake, the second bomb fell even closer, the third right over their heads. The humans barely had time to realise that, trapped down there, they were going to die like rats.

It took a full minute for the dust to settle. Aziraphale and Jophiel, miraculously unscathed, stood among the rubble and the dead bodies, only the night sky above them.

“That was very kind of you.” Aziraphale told him.

“Shut up.” Jophiel replied as he straightened his suit.

“Well, it was. No paperwork, for a start.” The demon insisted. Then, he widened his eyes in realisation, horrified at what he’d just remembered. “Oh, the books. Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they'll all be blown to—”

He cut himself off as he watched Jophiel extract an immaculate bag from the clutches of a corpse. The angel grunted and handed it over to him.

“Little miracle of my own.” He said, casually. “Lift home?”

Aziraphale stood completely stunned, the bag in one hand and his hat in the other as he watched the angel precede him to the car. On his damned face, something that wasn’t quite a smile, but was definitely on its way there.

* * *

# SoHo, London, 1967

The demon opened the door of a pearly white Bentley parked haphazardly on the pavement of a Soho street and got inside in a hurry. Jophiel startled a little. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I needed a word with you.” Aziraphale replied.

“What?”

“I am not stupid, Jophiel.” He took a deep breath. “There were reports from down below indicating a group of lesser angels was planning a heist into Hell. To steal hellfire, no less. So… would you be so kind to tell me whether you are out of your mind? Bringing your subordinates into this, really?”

The angel didn’t reply, staring blankly ahead.

“Jophiel, it's too dangerous. Besides the fact that if your lot finds out they will make you Fall… hellfire won’t just kill your body. It will destroy you completely.”

“You told me what you think – one hundred and five years ago.” Jophiel rebutted.

“And I haven't changed my mind.” Another sharp intake of breath. “But I can't have you risking your place in Heaven, not to mention your life. Not even for something dangerous. So…” He pulled out a small wooden box, kept closed by a golden clasp on its front. It shook and rumbled in his hands. “You can call off your people. Erase their memories. Just don’t go opening the clasp.”

Jophiel took the box from him with careful fingers, observing it as it vibrated in his grasp. “It’s the real thing?”

“Of course.” Suddenly, the demon couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

“After everything you said?”

Aziraphale nodded, a bit too quickly.

“Should I say thank you?”

The demon averted his gaze, the corner of his lips twitching – in a smile, in a grimace. “Better not.”

“Can I drop you anywhere?”

“No, thank you.” He turned again to him and saw the pout on Jophiel’s face. “Oh, don't look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could… oh, I don't know.” He smiled, but it was sad at the edges. “Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”

Jophiel couldn’t stand it. “Listen, I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a few, long seconds, his silvery-blue eyes wide and restless, his lips opening and closing a few times, his chest rising and falling way too fast for someone who was sitting down, exerting no physical effort at all.

“You go too fast for me, Jophiel.”

* * *

# Tadfield, 2019

“What do you mean _loved_?” Aziraphale asked, slightly alarmed, watching Jophiel bring a hand to his chest and inhale deeply.

“I mean the opposite of when you say, _I don't like this place. I loathe it._"

“Oh, well. Most places can be fixed with a bit of—”

“Let's go talk to some nuns.” Jophiel said, barging ahead.

As they crossed the courtyard, they heard the bang of guns going off, a sharp pain, and realised they’d both been shot. Jophiel was wearing a white, puffy shirt, which he hadn’t bothered to button up all the way to the neck. He now had a big blue stain on his chest, right where his shirt exposed his skin.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, found himself with a bright red mark on his left shoulder, staining the dark grey jacket he’d been donning for a couple centuries now.

“What…?” Aziraphale asked, reaching behind him and staining his hand.

“Oh, it's _paint_.” Jophiel groaned.

A man came running towards them. “Hey! You've both been hit! I don't know what you think you're playing at right—”

Jophiel frowned, and for a second he let his _whole_ form shine through – all of his eyes, all of his wings. The man shrieked and fainted on the spot.

“Well, that was fun.” The angel said, grinning.

“Well, yes, fun for you. Look at the state of this coat.” Jophiel circled the demon, looking indeed at the state of his coat. “I've kept this in tip-top condition for over 180 years now. I'll never get this stain out.”

The angel shrugged. “You could miracle it away.”

“Hmm yes, but well…” Aziraphale wiggled on his feet, showing Jophiel the stain on his shoulder once again. He stuck out his lower lip a bit, “I would always know the stain was there. Underneath, I mean.” He raised both eyebrows as he looked up at his friend.

Jophiel leaned forward, blowing gently on the demon’s shoulder, and both paint stains lifted off their bodies and disappeared into thin air, leaving them clean.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale beamed, pretending to be surprised. Jophiel watched him with a small, knowing smile on his face as the demon walked past him.

“Impressive hardware.” Aziraphale said, picking up one of the paintball guns from the ground. “Oh, but look at it closely. It's not a proper gun at all. It just shoots paintballs!”

“Shouldn’t your lot appreciate all kinds of guns?” The angel asked, taking the gun from Aziraphale and pointing it at him, demonstrating.

“Not quite all kinds, no.” He said, putting his hand on the barrel and nudging it away from his face. “Guns have also been used by many a righteous man throughout the course of history.”

“Righteous?” Jophiel lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes. Oh, don’t give me that look, you know what I mean. Men favoured by your people. Pious men.” He averted his gaze, fidgeting with his hands. “Guns aren’t supposed to be necessarily evil. I… think.”

“_Not necessarily evil_? Really?” Jophiel laughed, tossing the weapon to the ground. “Come on.”

They entered the manor, and as they walked through the place Jophiel picked up a brochure, decided it wasn’t useful, balled it and tossed it to the ground. It had the good sense of moving itself to the nearest paper bin.

“I do wonder what happened to all the nuns that were here,” Aziraphale muttered, fretting. “This is definitely the place.”

A woman came running towards them.

“Oy, Millie from Accounts caught me on the elbow! Who's winning?” She shouted at them.

“Let’s see about that, shall we?” Jophiel snapped both fingers, and suddenly the courtyard outside was filled with the sound of actual machine guns.

“What—what in the world did you just do?” Aziraphale asked, rushing to peek outside a window.

“Well, they wanted real guns, so I gave them what they wanted.” The angel replied with a beatific smile.

“You gave them _actual guns_, Jophiel? There are people out there shooting at each other!” The demon gasped in horror.

“And what about it? You were just saying guns aren’t necessarily evil.” Jophiel made his way through the manor, kicking down a door and looking inside a room as he spoke. “’Sides, everyone has free will, including the right to murder. Just think of it as a microcosm of the universe.”

The demon stopped dead in a hallway, forcing Jophiel to turn around and look at him. “They're _murdering_ each other?”

“No, they aren't.” He sighed. “No one's killing anyone. They're all having miraculous escapes. It wouldn't be any fun otherwise.”

Aziraphale smiled in relief. “You know, Jophiel, even though your attitude is frankly appalling sometimes, underneath it all you’re still an angel, and you can’t—”

He was interrupted by Jophiel throwing himself at him, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and pressing him into a wall, their faces no more than a few inches apart.

“Shut it! Stop telling me what I am and what I can and can’t do! I won’t have you of all people telling me—”

He was cut off by a woman seeing them and walking quickly towards them. “Excuse me, gentlemen! Sorry to break up an intimate moment…”

* * *

When Aziraphale arrived at the bandstand, the angel was already waiting for him, pacing back and forth. The demon looked over his shoulder one last time before approaching him.

“Well?” Jophiel asked him, “Any news?”

“Um,” Aziraphale wrung his hands. “What—what kind of news would that be?”

“Well, have you found the missing Antichrist's name, address and shoe size yet?”

“His shoe size?” The demon stuttered. “Why—why would I have his shoe size?”

“It's a joke. I've got nothing either.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale averted his gaze. “Well… it's the Great Plan, Jophiel. We’re not meant to interfere.”

“Yeah. For the record,” He sauntered around the bandstand, raising his arms towards the sky. When he spoke again he wasn’t talking to the demon anymore. “This isn’t going so well! Have You noticed?”

“Jophiel, please, don’t—” The demon rushed to him, trying to grab his arms and stop him.

“Testing them to destruction, is that Your Great Plan? Are You having fun with this?”

“Jophiel!” Aziraphale clasped his hands over his mouth. “May you be forgiven.”

“I don’t care if I’ll be forgiven, bird. I don’t care anymore.”

Aziraphale lowered his hands, staring at him through glossy eyes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

That finally succeeded in stopping Jophiel in his tracks.

“Listen… we find the boy. My agents can do it.”

“And then what?” The demon asked. “We eliminate him?”

“Someone does. I'm not personally up for killing kids.”

Aziraphale paled. “Oh, so I should do it because I’m a demon?”

“Well, yeah?”

“I don't have to kill children, Jophiel.”

“Well, neither do I.” Retorted the angel.

“I can’t do it, he’s literally my boss’s son. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time an angel has killed a child—”

“Oh, so now that you want no blood on your hands I don’t have to be a good angel anymore?” He hissed in the demon’s face. “Kill him yourself. Be a proper demon for once and kill the child.”

“I am not killing anybody.” Aziraphale replied, spitting out each word.

“This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous. I don't even know why I'm still talking to you.”

“Well, frankly, neither do I.”

“Enough, I'm leaving.” And the angel turned around, prepared to do just so.

“You can't leave, Jophiel.” Aziraphale shouted after him. “There isn't anywhere to go.”

“It's a big universe.” Jophiel turned around, opening his arms to show his point. “Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off together.”

“Go off together?” A mess of complicated emotions showed on the demon’s face, barely having time to leave before being replaced. Surprise. Hope. Pain. “Listen to yourself.”

“How long have we been friends?” Jophiel pressed on. “Six thousand years!”

“Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common.” Aziraphale squeaked, shuffling nervously as he spoke. “I don't even like you.”

“You do!”

“And even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn't tell you.” The demon raised his voice more and more with every word. “We're on opposite sides!”

Jophiel took a few quick steps forward. “We're on our side.”

“There is no our side, Jophiel.” He set down his shoulders, his decision taken. “Not anymore. It's over.”

The angel froze for a long moment. Then he nodded, his expression stone cold. “Right. Well. Then.” He looked like he had more to say, but in the end he just grunted and turned around to leave, this time for real. “Have a nice doomsday!”

* * *

“I never asked to be an archangel!” Jophiel wailed to the table, to the guy tending the bar, to the people walking by him in the pub and trying to ignore the annoying drunken man shouting at them.

He was wet, covered in soot, and a little crisp at the edges. He’d walked into the bookshop as it was burning down, and, when he’d focused his mind to try and locate his friend – he’d come up empty. Aziraphale was nowhere to be found. Not in the bookshop, not on this earth. He was… gone. And the bookshop was burning down. There was only one logical explanation: he’d been eliminated. Forever.

At that point, the jet from a firehose knocking the wind out of his lungs hadn’t even hurt at all. He was all alone in this universe, again. And he was scared. He’d grabbed a book as a keepsake, and he’d left.

“I’m starting to think Lucifer had the right of it! He would have welcomed me, you know… I could have tagged along…” He took a long swig from his bottle. “Oh, hey, the food hadn't been that good lately. I didn't have anything on for the rest of that afternoon. I could have gone…”

Suddenly, he heard the crash of thunder outside, and the feeling of a well-known, dearly loved presence in the same room as him.

“Aziraphale?” He asked, faintly. “Are you here?”

“Good question. Not certain.” Aziraphale’s spirit sat across from him, his eyes glancing around the room, as if he was trying very hard to orient himself but could see nothing. “Never done this before. Can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you.”

“Afraid I've rather made a mess of things.” The demon admitted, in the understatement of the century. He’d insisted Jophiel kept trying to make his lot see reason, and he’d tried to do the same. Of course, that had just resulted in a rather ugly fight that had knocked off a few candles too many in the bookshop. His books had begun to catch fire just as he was summoned in Hell to take responsibility for his rebellious behaviour.

Jophiel had been running away from the other angels, determined not to join in their war. He’d come to the bookshop to ask the demon, for the third time, to leave with him, and he’d found it engulfed in flames.

“Did you go to Alpha Centauri?” Aziraphale asked, resuming their last conversation.

“Nah, I changed my mind. Stuff happened.” His face contorted in a pained expression he’d ever had. Jophiel knew this was the _least cool_ he’d ever been, but he couldn’t help it. His lip quivered. “I lost my best friend.”

The demon opened and closed his mouth. He couldn’t see Jophiel, but his voice sounded broken, desperate. “So sorry to hear it.” They had no time for that, though. They had a world to save. “Listen, back in my bookshop there is a book I need you to get.”

“Oh,” The angel voice got a lot quieter. “Look… your bookshop isn't there anymore.”

“Oh?”

“I'm really sorry.” Thunder rumbled outside once again. “It burned down.”

The demon blinked exactly once. “All of it?”

“N—ye—n—_yeah_.” Jophiel replied, not without some trouble. “What—what was the book?”

“The one the young lady with the bicycle left behind. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of—”

“Agnes Nutter!” The angel shouted, pulling the book out of his jacket. “Yes, I took it!”

“You have it?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly cheerful again.

“Look, souvenir!” Jophiel pointed at the book, not quite realising his friend couldn’t see.

“Look inside! I made notes. It's all in there. The boy's name, address. Everything else. I worked it all out.” He said, with some pride.

“Look, wherever you are, I'll come to you. Where are you?” Jophiel fiddled with the book, trying to find the address.

“I… I’m… I'm not really anywhere yet.” The demon replied. “I've been discorporated.”

“Oh.”

“You need to get to Tadfield Air Base.”

Jophiel looked down at the book, finding a map of Tadfield, with the Air Base circled. “Why?”

“World ending. That's where it's all going to happen. Quite soon now. I'll head there too. I just need to find a receptive body… harder than you'd think.”

The angel stared at him, gaping. “I'm not going to go there.”

“I do need a body.” Aziraphale said with a smile. “Pity I can't inhabit yours.” Jophiel made a face the demon couldn’t see. “Angel, demon - probably explode. So I'll meet you at Tadfield. But we're both going to have to get a bit of a wiggle-on!”

“What?”

“Tadfield, Air Base.”

“I heard that. It was the _wiggle-on_.”

And, just as suddenly as he’d felt Aziraphale’s presence, the angel realised he was alone again. But not alone in the universe, this time around.

* * *

Many years later, they sit side by side at a table at the Ritz.

A waiter comes by, pops a bottle of champagne open for them. The woman at the piano is playing a romantic tune. The light is warm, their table is full of desserts, and Aziraphale’s eyes are shining with giddiness.

He gives a happy sigh, settling himself a bit more comfortably in his seat.

“I like to think none of this would have worked out if you weren't, at heart, just a little bit, a _good_ angel.”

“And if you weren't, deep down, just enough of a _bad_ demon to be worth knowing.” He raises his glass at Aziraphale, smiling. “Cheers. To the world.”

The demon smiles back at him fondly. “To the _world_.”

* * *

> It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.
> 
> \- William Shakespeare

[1] Based on the Camiguin Hawk-Owl. You can see some a picture of this spooky cuteass pocketsized bird [here](https://ebird.org/species/camboo1?siteLanguage=en_PH) and [here](http://hibok-hibokrocks.blogspot.com/).

[2] In Anglican and Episcopal traditions, Zophiel is the OG angel who carries a flaming sword.

[3] As gossip would have it, the owl Fell because he hung around the wrong people, and trusted them even though he really shouldn’t have.

[4] Zophiel, being the archangel of wisdom, understanding, and judgment, got more leeway than the others did – at least to a certain extent.

[5] [See](https://chamyl.tumblr.com/post/188213142174/davidtennantphotos-x).

[6] They had tried to find him a more evil-sounding name, they really had. Nothing stuck. In the end, they went with his old name and called it a day.

[7] Angel associated with the planet Venus, joy, and pleasure.

[8] Zophiel/Jophiel refers the same angel, but while Zophiel means _spy of God/watchman of the Lord_, Jophiel means _beauty of God/divine beauty_. (At least as far as I’ve read, but I don’t know Hebrew so don’t quote me on that.)

[9] He wasn’t surprised a demon would lie, he was just surprised that this demon was such a bad liar. Besides, there are easier ways to invite someone out to lunch.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot harder than I initially thought jasdhsjhd B O Y. Somebody should have warned me that when you have an actual plot then you also get plot holes you need to close!!
> 
> I wrote this for myself and honestly have no idea why anyone but me would be interested in this (there isn’t even any porn lmfao) but, you know, since I have already written it, might as well share it. Actually you’re free to use this as reference for anything, just lmk so I can see what you’re doing too!
> 
> Thanks for coming to my TED talk! 🌸


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